


autopilot

by silkbombs (mulberrygrey)



Category: Little Mix (Band), One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, Shy Harry, Swearing, because louis and harry are sherlock fanboys, blackmailing, honorable mentions to pete wentz and kit harington, sort of, very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7124035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mulberrygrey/pseuds/silkbombs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis accidentally sends an unknown number a video of him giving a cockroach a funeral. The weirdest love story ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	autopilot

**Author's Note:**

> So I know I'm supposed to be updating heart open, bloodstain on my sleeve BUT due to me embarrassing myself brutally last week, I had to write this out. I promise you all I'm working on the last chapter of hoboms.
> 
> In the mean time, have this crack of a fic I cooked up. The title is taken from the cutest song [Autopilot by Reese Lansangan](https://open.spotify.com/track/08wzTUWlKJthkECOrxR6N9).
> 
> And yes, unfortunately, this is based off true events [as in, I really did send a random number a video of me giving a cockroach a funeral (and a variety of other embarrassing videos that include me yelling at my computer screen about how real Larry is but...that's personal), and I really did pay a dollar on WhitePages to stalk said unknown number]. 
> 
> ANYWAY, this story is dedicated to Anna, Jane, and Kerry who were cool enough to listen to me scream for around two solid hours about how my life is ruined and I'll be forever known as the girl who gives cockroaches funerals. Thanks for dealing with my extra ass.
> 
> Enjoy and don't hesitate to hit me up on [tumblr](http://silkbombs.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/silkbombs/). 
> 
> I promise I don't bite.

It’s official.

Louis hates phones.

Scratch that—he _abso-fucking-lutely detests_ phones. Phones have brought nothing but pain and agony to his life at this point. They’re fragile and slippery, cost an arm and a leg, and are overall, a huge fucking menace. Sure phones are useful—they’re quick little portals to the internet and they make life (in some ways) a whole lot easier. They’re also great for providing entertainment in times of boredom but—

The thing is, they’re also life ruiners.

For example:

He’s currently lying in bed on his stomach, staring at his phone in horror, deciding on whether he should rip his own head off, sink his overgrown nails in and just tear and tear until everything is left in little pieces, like the remnants of a paper shredder (Zayn can use what’s left of him as confetti), drown himself in the bathtub (it shouldn’t be that hard, the water pressure’s great in there), or maybe just jump off the nearest cliff (he’s sure there’s one hidden somewhere in the campus forest).

He settles for screaming in his pillow.

Well, less screaming and more attacking the damn thing.

He lets out shriek so high he’s sure the Mars rover can hear it (if the Mars rover had ears). He shrieks so hard his lungs hurt and his breath is gone and all he’s left with is a thrumming burning sensation in his chest.

Then, he promptly attempts to strangle himself with his comforter. Hopefully it’ll make him pass out at least.

Please, _someone_ just put him out of his misery.

Unfortunately it doesn’t work, because ten minutes after wrestling in the sheets (in a not fun way) he just ends up sweaty, very red, and looking like he just fought a bear with his own bare hands (he totally could) _._ Which is great.  At this point, no one’ll care what he looks like.

It won’t fucking matter because he can’t leave his house _ever_ after this. He’s gone and ruined his entire life with the tap of a button.

He figures he only has a few options at this point. First, he’ll probably have to barricade himself in his room, live off pot noodles and crisps and tap water. Maybe start a Kickstarter for facial reconstruction surgery, fill out an application for a name change. He’s always liked the name Sebastian, or maybe Romeo. It sounds suave.

 _Romeo Hastings_. Could be the lead male in a trashy romance novel if he didn’t know any better.

From there it’s only a matter of fleeing the country. Maybe he’ll move to some obscure island, or Russia. That’s where every wanted man ends up going right?

Yeah, Russia sounds good. No one will find him there.

He’s in the middle of checking the next flights to Moscow on his phone (ugh) when the door swings open with a crash. Zayn runs into the room with a wooden spoon wielded like a bat, nearly slipping as he skids across the hard wood floor, looking a little worse for wear. His hair’s out of place, half done with wax, dressed only in his boxers and a single sock. There’s a foamy smear of what looks like toothpaste on the corner of his mouth.

“What?! What happened?” He pants, eyes darting around Louis’ tiny bedroom.

Louis flings himself at him, clawing at his shoulders, “Zayn, Zayn I ruined my life! I have to move and change my identity!” He sighs and flops against Zayn’s nice, bare, chiseled chest.

“Louis? Are you okay?” Zayn asks, worry filling his voice.

“Okay?! No. No I’m not oh-flipping-kay—I’m ruined. I’m absolutely ruined and I did it to myself. I’m a textbook tragic hero. This, this is my greatest downfall, Zayn,” He exclaims, grabbing Zayn’s face harder than necessary, “Tell the squad I’ll miss them, tell Perrie she’s lovely, let my mum and sisters know I love them...Oh and remind Liam he still owes me ten quid.”

“What the hell did you Louis?” Zayn asks, pulling his hands off his face, wincing as he rubs at the red marks Louis’ left behind. He grabs him upright so he’s not flailing all over the place, shaking his head like an overworked parent as he ushers him to sit on the edge of the bed.

Louis groans and opens up the iMessage app on his phone, thrusting it under Zayn’s nose before he immediately falls back in his sheets, covering his face with his pillow at another attempt at smothering himself, “ _That._ That is what I did.”

Zayn blinks twice, staring at the screen for a minute.

 “ _This_ is what’s ruined your life? A text? You made me run here, with our nice fucking ladle because of a text? I thought someone had broken in or something! Can’t fucking believe you, you overdramatic twat.”

Louis lets out a noise of protest.

“M’ not overdramatic!” He screeches, because he’s _not_.

Zayn looks unimpressed, raising one perfectly shaped brow, something he often does to indicate that he’s not having it, “Yes you are.”

And _okay,_ maybe’s he being a little _overdramatic._ But he’s got good reason to be.

“Ughhhh,” Louis groans, drawling it out for an unnecessary amount of time, “you don’t understand me. No one does.”

“Right,” Zayn deadpans, “not overdramatic at all.”

He scrolls back through the phone, brows furrowing, “What am I even looking at anyway? These are just videos.”

Louis just grumbles, still muffled by the pillow.

“Not just any videos, play the first one.”

It’s quiet for a moment, the only sound is Zayn’s finger tapping the screen until solemn instrumentals fill the room, quietly build up in a crescendo. High pealed giggles interrupt the audio. Zayn lets out a bark of laughter as soon as the video ends.

“Is…Is that… did you throw a fucking funeral for cockroach? And is that the fucking [theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P47yvI7SWM)from _The_ _Pacific_? Fucking gold,” Zayn shakes, “Brilliant use of Hans Zimmer. Why didn’t you invite me for this? I would’ve gotten out my black suit.”

“Shut up,” Louis scowls and hits Zayn with his pillow, making grabby hands for his phone.

“Hold on,” Zayn pulls the phone away, attempting to swat him away as he looks at the phone curiously, “what are the other videos?”

Louis pales, the cockroach funeral is the least incriminating of the videos on his phone. And oh… _oh no_. Zayn _cannot_ see the rest of those videos. Especially the second one…He’ll be hearing about this for the next forty years of his life if Zayn sees that second video.

“Nothing!” Louis shouts, a little too loudly before realizing his mistake.

Zayn looks over at him, realization dawning on his face when he hears the alarm in Louis’ voice, mouth curling up into an evil, evil grin.

Son of a bitch.

Louis twitches. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He rocks back on his feet and _pounces_.

“Give it back!” Louis screeches as he launches himself in the air in Zayn’s direction like his life depends on it. Everything seems to move in slow motion, Louis airborne and stretched out as he extends his arm out as far as it can go in attempt to stop Zayn from playing that bleeding clip.

He’s close, so close and—

“Oof,” Louis groans, the wind knocked out of him as he lands on his stomach with a soft thud.

He’s flat on his face. Zayn is on the other side of the room, a nimble little bastard, all cat-like.

Louis glowers.

Zayn cackles, holding the phone up as high as he can (because he’s a fucking dick and knows that Louis’ vertically disadvantaged, that’s why) and Louis scrambles off the bed, jumping up and down, trying to get it back. He manages to get an inch away from the phone, thanking whatever deity that’s out there that Zayn’s not that much taller than him, when Zayn twists away from him and presses the play button.

The video starts.

It’s too late. Now he’s really ruined.

“ _See this? This is mine. Kit Harington is mine, so you bitches better back off,”_ Louis’ voice crackles out of the phone speakers, “ _My man has the fucking body of a Greek god. Those abs, those abs were crafted by crying angels, and that hair…don’t even get me started on those curls._   _Winter isn’t the only thing coming tonight._ ”

The video ends, room silent. God, fucking _god_ why did he have to record that video? He could’ve just appreciated the beauty that is Kit Harington without putting it on goddamn tape. In hindsight, it was supposed to be a funny little video for himself to look back on, to laugh about.

Now it’s the nail in the coffin.

Louis narrows his eyes at Zayn, whose mouth drops open in a little o-shape. He looks over at him, lips slowly tilting up.

“Don’t,” Louis warns as he rubs his temples exasperatedly, “don’t say a word.”

Zayn bites his lip, grin becoming wider and wider.

Yep. He should’ve gone with drowning in the bathtub.

He buries his head in his arms. Wait for it.

3…2…

“Jesus fucking ch-christ,” Zayn nearly screams as he doubles over in laughter. He grabs his stomach, sinking to the floor (is that _really_ necessary?) to brace himself as he lets out his obnoxious donkey laughs.

_There it is._

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding these absolutely incredible works of art from me this whole time—I can’t breathe fuck.”  Zayn chortles, wheezing as tears leak out his eyes, face red as he continues his laughing fit.

“Yeah well, I hope you continue to _not breathe_ ,” Louis spits out, covering his face with his hands.

This is the worst day of his life. Time to pack for Russia.

“W-winter isn’t the only thing coming tonight,” Zayn continues, slamming the floor with a fist, “put that on a fucking t-shirt.”

Louis looks up, glares at him, momentarily wishing looks could _actually_ kill, and snatches the phone out of his hand.

“Are you quite finished?” He stomps his foot, bottom lip sticking out.  He’ll throw a tantrum if he wants to. This isn’t fun.

Zayn shakes his head, wiping tears from his eyes, laughs dying down after a couple more minutes.

“Okay,” He chuckles, “Yeah those are pretty fucking bad but what’s the big deal? Why are you planning on leaving the country?”

Louis grabs him by the ear, ignoring Zayn’s yelp (bitch deserves it) as he brings his head so it’s level to his, “Look at the number I sent it to.”

Zayn frowns, eyebrows furrowing. On the recipient line, is a number that’s nearly identical to Louis’, except the last number is a 9 instead of a 0.

“Who’s that?”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Louis says shoulders slumping, “I don’t fucking know who it is. Don’t you get it Zayn? I was trying to send _myself_ these videos because I just got a fucking new phone and I don’t have any more space in my iCloud, so why not text them to my own number right?”

Zayn nods, nudging him to continue. Louis takes a breath, opening his mouth to keep speaking.

“So I put my number in, and this piece of shit phone autocorrects the last number, and I hit send and before I know it I’ve bloody sent these videos to some random number that isn’t mine!” He cries, “Some random knob out there with the same area code has these videos of me. Doncaster is tiny. What if they’ve seen me around? What if they post them online and they go viral? My life is over. I’ll die being known as the Boy Who Gives Cockroaches Funerals and Screams About Kit Harington and the weird Condom Water Balloon Jiggler.”

He sighs, rubbing his head as he clicks his phone shut and turns toward Zayn who just stares at him, biting his lip.

“I swear to god Zayn if you laugh one more time…”

“Okay, okay,” Zayn surrenders, swallowing down one last giggle, trying his best to school his face into a neutral expression, “Listen, you’ll be fine. Maybe the person who received those videos won’t even look at them?”

Louis gives him a look that says, _I’m not convinced at all_.

“Really Zayn? If some random number sent you videos you wouldn’t even play one of them?”

“Alright,” Zayn concedes, “the number could be dead?”

“I highly doubt that.”

Zayn sighs, “Well maybe they’re nice. Just send them a text asking them to ignore the videos and explain that it was mistake. Most people would understand.”

Louis runs the idea over in his head. It sounds like a decent idea if he’s being honest, after all, it can’t be the first time someone’s sent an embarrassing text to the wrong number. And yeah, he likes to believe most people are decent. Maybe whoever who got it will understand.

“I think I’ll actually do that,” Louis says, calming down a bit. It’s a blessing he has Zayn in times like these, he’s a lot more logical about well, everything. Hopefully it’ll all be okay in the end.

Zayn smiles, looking pleased with himself.

“See? Your life isn’t over, now get up. Niall’s coming over to watch the game,” Zayn says, grabbing his hand to pull him up. Louis buries his face in Zayn’s chest and exhales. He’s really glad he has Zayn.

“Thanks,” He says, and he means it. Even if Zayn’s a bit of a cock sometimes, he’s still his best friend and he always knows how to calm him down.

“No problem Lou,” Zayn replies, patting his back fondly as he runs a hand through Louis’ hair before pausing, “Anyway, what was that you said earlier?”

“What?” Louis asks.

“About being known as a weird condom water balloon jiggler?”

“Uhhh…”

“Louis… What was that last video?”

“I gotta go,” Louis mumbles before pushing himself off Zayn and making a run for the living room, phone tight in his hand.

 

 

****

 

Louis’ sure he’s going insane.

It’s been just six hours after the whole video fiasco, and he’s currently sitting on his bed in the dark. After the game, Niall had crashed on the couch and Zayn had followed him to his bedroom, now asleep at his feet. The soft glow of his laptop screen illuminates his face. He’s jittering inside, feeling like he’s ready to burst out of skin at any moment. His fingers keep tapping at his laptop impatiently as he surveys the website he’s currently staring at.

Whitepages.co.uk

He couldn’t help it—he had to know who he sent those videos to, even after Zayn had very pointedly told him to _relax and forget about it_. The thing is, he can’t relax _or_ forget about it (never mind doing _both_ ) because he _needs_ to know who’s currently in possession of those videos. He’s not sure he can sleep if he doesn’t find out. So he had ended up googling the number, frantically searching results upon results in hopes of finding out who the mystery number belongs to.

The problem is, every single website he comes across is asking him to _pay_ to see more information about the number. And to be honest, he’s on the verge of whipping his credit card out and doing so—hence the reason why he’s glaring at his computer screen, eye twitching, as he internally debates the pros and cons of paying a quid to get premium access to the website.

He types down the number of his card, pointer finger hovering over the _enter_ button on his keyboard.

_Should I do it?_

_Fuck it. I’m doing it._

As soon as he presses the button, the page begins to loads and Louis can feel himself practically vibrate in anticipation. He watches as the little swirling circle of dots moves on the center of the page impatiently, nearly ready to scratch at his screen and scream at it to _hurry the fuck up_ when it finally changes.

_About time._

His eyes dart across the page quickly as he scans the number, double checking if it’s correct. It is. He continues to read what’s under it:

_Name: Unknown_

_Area: South Yorkshire, United Kingdom_

_Email: Unknown_

_Relatives: Unknown_

And it ends there.

“Are you bloody serious?!” Louis screams, throwing his laptop to the side. He kicks his feet out petulantly, knocking Zayn right in the face.

“What th-“ Zayn groans sitting up, now wide awake, “Ow. Fuck. What’s going on?” He rubs his face where Louis’ foot has smashed into his nose.

“I just wasted a quid on WhitePages,” Louis groans and flops on his back to stare at the ceiling, “I thought I’d be able to find the owner of the phone on it. But there’s no information.”

Zayn sighs, picking up his laptop to look at the site, “Louis, I told you to leave it alone. The more you think about this the more it’ll drive you crazy.”

Louis crosses his arms because Zayn’s right. _Of course he’s right_.

“Whatever,” He sighs.

Zayn keeps staring at the laptop as if he’s contemplating something before turning his head to look at Louis, “Hey um… Do you mind if I look up something on here? Since you already paid for it and everything.”

Louis waves his hand, still upset that he wasn’t able to find any information _at all_ , “Go crazy.”

“Thanks,” He says silently, typing something in while Louis continues to pity himself.

He blows his hair away from his forehead and tries to shut his eyes in an attempt to fall asleep. It’s already sometime in the early hours of the A.M. and he needs to get some rest. He does his best to try and forget about the phone and instead keeps his mind blank, letting the sound of Zayn clicking away on his computer calm him down.

He begins to feel his limbs grow heavy when Zayn’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet, making his eyes snap open.

“Interesting,” Zayn says loudly to himself, “Very interesting.”

Louis props himself on his elbow grumpily, shooting Zayn a tired look, “What?”

Zayn seems to have produced a pen and what suspiciously looks like a Lisa Frank notepad out of nowhere (which, Louis doesn’t even want to know _how_ and _why_ he has one). He’s scribbling something down furiously, brows crinkled, “The number on here for Pete Wentz is different than the one I have in my records…” He says simply.

Louis groans and decides to not push the topic any further. Sometimes he has no idea what Zayn gets up to in his free time and he prefers not to find out.

 He flops back on the bed, closes his eyes, and sighs.

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

 

 

****

 

 

He doesn’t get the text until a day later.

It’s mid-afternoon, and the entire crew’s decided to get lunch at a little pizza place not too far from campus. They’ve opted for a large table on the patio; it’s a perfect day to be outdoors. The sun is out, lovely and egg-yolk yellow and round against a cotton blue sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds. Louis leans forward in his seat, half listening as he chews on a hot garlicky breadstick. Perrie’s retelling a story about how her partner for Orgo lab got wasted in the middle of the day and threw up on her shoes when they were supposed to be writing a report.

He’d already heard it earlier.

“I was wearing my brand new espadrilles too! The white ones that I splurged on,” Perrie pouts, lips pink and glossy, as she adjusts the floppy beige sunhat on her head.

Jade looks sympathetic, moving to place her hand on Perrie’s shoulder, French manicured fingers soft and careful as she rubs her back gently.

“The cute ones from Anthro? With the lace ups?”

“Yes!” Perrie cries out and Jesy and Leigh-Anne both coo, the two of them coming to settle next to her along with Jade.

Zayn gasps around his straw, horrified, “Not the wedges!”

“Right,” Niall stares at the five of them, looking utterly confused, mouth full of prosciutto and arugula pizza, “…So lads, up for some golf this weekend?” He asks, turning to Liam and Louis as he sprays a curtain of crumbs out of his mouth.

“Niall, chew with your mouth closed,” Liam says brusquely, wrinkling his nose as he wipes off a piece of fly-away mozzarella from his cheek.

“Sorry,” Niall says around another mouthful, an even bigger spray of crumbs immediately landing on Liam once again. Liam sighs, throwing up his arms as he grabs another napkin and begins wiping himself down furiously

Louis nods absentmindedly, “Sure.”

He’s a little out of it to be honest, class was dull as ever today and he’s feeling exhausted. He barely got any sleep last night, too worried about the whole video situation. He’d been half expecting a weird response from the mysterious unknown number, anxious and relieved when he woke up to nothing the next day.

Niall nods, satisfied, before his attention is taken up by Jade who’s holding up a pack of M&M’s.

“Bet you can’t catch these with your mouth Horan,” She challenges, wry smile on her face.

“You’re on, Thirwall,” Niall says, determined.

Louis giggles as Jade pelts chocolates at Niall, colored candies bouncing off his cheeks and forehead as he tries to catch them. Zayn, Perrie, and Jesy are off comparing manicures and Liam’s showing Leigh-Anne something on his phone. Probably some cat video.

After a couple minutes of watching his friends fondly, his mind starts wandering again. He could really go for a nap right now to be honest, wouldn’t mind pushing the food off the table and curling up in a little patch of sunlight for a snooze. He’s in the middle of daydreaming about a crawling on top of the table and sleeping, eyes slowly closing as the warmth of spring seeps into his back, when his phone goes off, the tinkling sound of a text message snapping him out of his trance.

Oh fuck. _If it’s_ _what he thinks it is…_

He jolts back, startled, and slams his iPhone screen down on the table, nearly knocking over the little dish of marinara sauce in front of him.

The entire table abruptly goes silent. Everyone stares at him, sending him curious and worried glances.

“What?!” He snaps warily, “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” Perrie says breezily, “Just wondering what’s got you so jumpy.”

Louis scowls, “M’not jumpy.”

As if on cue, his phone buzzes two more times, making him jump in his seat once again.

The universe hates him.

“Mate, you’re nearly falling off your seat,” Niall points out, a smudge of melted chocolate on his cheek.

 _Traitor_. He huffs and grabs the edge of the table, sitting up right pointedly as he glares at Niall. Just for that he won’t let tell him about the chocolate on his face.

 “It’s nothing, the sound just startled me okay?”

“You sure hun? You’ve been kind of out of it all day,” Jesy points out worriedly. Liam nods in agreement.

“I’m fine guys, really. Just a bit knackered is all,” He waves them off, pasting a smile on his face. For emphasis, he bites into his breadstick.

 “See? All good. I’m starving. Don’t mind me,” he says, trying his best not to sound like a loon, and chews a little too aggressively. It seems to work well enough, a couple of his friends give him an odd glance here and there, but soon enough, the rest of the table is turning back to what they were doing before.

Well, almost the entire table.

Zayn’s staring at him knowingly, looking concerned and intrigued. He stands, coming over to where Louis’ sat and grabs his bicep and phone, “Louis and I are gonna get some more parmesan.”

Leigh-Anne frowns, looking at them suspiciously, “Why don’t you just ask the waiter?”

Zayn shrugs and grabs digs his hand into Louis’ arm as he pulls him forward, dragging him toward the doors of the restaurant, “You know me, impatient and all. I think I’ll just get it myself. Louis needs to stretch his tiny legs anyway,” he rushes out with one last quick smile.

Zayn takes him to the men’s bathroom, quickly locking the door.

“Way to go, real natural Zayn,” Louis sighs, scrubbing a hand down the front of his face.

He ignores him, holding up the iPhone.

“Was it him?” He asks.

“We don’t even know it’s a guy,” Louis reminds him, “and I don’t know. Was too nervous to check what it said.”

“Hm…mind if I check?” Zayn asks.

“Might as well. I don’t think I can look at it myself,” Louis shrugs, closes his eyes, and leans back against the bathroom stall. For once in his life, he hopes it’s just another text from his mum about not calling home enough and not the mystery number.

Zayn nods, unlocking the phone. His eyes dart back and forth over the screen silently, teeth digging into his lip. He’s quiet for a little too long. Louis opens one eye, trying to read Zayn’s face. He’s starting to get impatient, it shouldn’t take this long to read a bloody message.

“What is it?” He finally asks when he can’t stand waiting any longer, coming over to stand next to Zayn who turns his head slowly, looking amused.

“It seems like you’ve earned yourself an admirer Louis,” Zayn smirks, passing him the phone.

Louis frowns, snatching it from him and looks down at the screen and _oh._

Wow. Okay.

There’s three messages right below his last one:

“ _Shelli’s_ ,” Louis says slowly, after he’s done reading the messages a fifth time through, ears pink, “they want me to meet them at the bakery. This Friday.”

“You gonna go?” Zayn asks, peering over at him curiously.

Louis sighs, tucking his phone in the pocket of his jeans and tries to ignore the weird butterflies in his stomach. He feels kind of…flattered to be honest, even though he’s essentially being blackmailed into going on a date with someone who could very well be a mass murderer.

What did he do for this to even _happen_ to him?

“Well it’s not like I got a choice innit,” He grumbles, “I need to make sure those videos don’t get out.”

“I suppose,” Zayn says, looking unsure, “want me to go with you? I can cancel my date night with Perrie. Don’t want you to be by yourself. Whoever this is could be dangerous.”

Louis smiles, glancing over at Zayn who’s staring back him, concerned. He fucking loves his best friend, looking out for him and offering to cancel his date night just to make sure he’s safe. He wonders what he would do without Zayn for what seems like the fourth time within two days.

“I think I’ll be okay Zee, don’t cancel your night with Pez,” Louis says patting his arm, “ _Shelli’s_ is always really busy on Friday nights anyways.”

Zayn looks unconvinced.

“You sure?” He asks.

“I’m sure,” Louis reassures him, “and if anything goes wrong, I’ll call you. I promise. Plus I’ll even bring my little thing of mace I never use. Okay?”

This seems to placate Zayn enough and he nods, “Okay.”

“Good,” Louis smiles, “now let’s go back and finish our pizza before our crazy friends do something stupid because they think we died.”

 

 

****

 

 

“Oh shut the hell up,” Louis growls to himself when his Perrie ringtone starts going off for the third time. His phone has been really fucking up his life recently.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Everyone’s impatient these days,” he mumbles to himself, trying to balance the to-go tray of coffees and teas he has in one hand and the huge plastic bag of snacks in the other as he trudges up the stairs.

 He’s been assigned to snack duty for this week’s mass study session, which means he’s responsible for supplying all the food for their weekly group study in the library—last week was Jesy’s turn. It’ a little tradition he and his friends started during their first year of Uni, Niall had brought a couple bags of crisps and biscuits one day when they were all at the library, and over the years, it blew up to a full scale event, with schedules and rotation on a spreadsheet and everything.

He rushes down the hall to the group study room they always use, pushing the door and dumping everything on the table unceremoniously. Everyone’s already sat in their places, some half-heartedly staring at their textbooks, others busy tapping away at their phones.

“Sweet! Tommo’s finally here with food!” Niall squeals in delight as he drops the paper airplane he was about to throw at Liam, immediately lunging for a pack of cheese and onion Walkers.

Liam looks up from his notebook (one of the few people who was actually studying diligently because he’s _Liam_ ) and places the black pen he’s holding next to the line of colored pens laid out neatly in front of him. He wrinkles his nose as he watches Niall shove a handful of crisps in his mouth.

“I hope you brought something healthy.”

“About time,” Perrie says, walking over in her towering high heels to pick up her skinny iced mocha out of the tray he’s holding, “I was getting impatient.”

Louis shoots her a glare and tosses his phone on the table.

“Oh, believe me, I’m aware,” he tuts, placing the rest of the drinks on the table so he’s free to settle into his normal spot between Zayn and Niall. He plops down between them, giving Niall’s hair a ruffle. Niall nuzzles into it, happily basking in his attention.

Zayn turns toward him, twirling an unlit cigarette in between his fingers, “You got a lot of homework?”

“Not too much thankfully. Profs were kind to me this week,” He answers, distracted as he rifles through his bag, racking his memory for what exactly he needs to get done. He never writes down his assignments, seeing as he’s not exactly a _planner_ sort of guy. There’s a film studies assignment he has due in a couple days though, so he settles on that. Might as well get it finished sooner than later.

 Jade coughs from across the table politely, “Louis.”

“Yes?” He asks, face still buried in his backpack as he searches for a pencil. He always loses his pencils since he’s got no proper pencil case (which Liam always scolds him about because according to him, having an organized supply of writing utensils is _essential_ to a successful academic career).

“Have you met Harry here?”

Harry?

Louis immediately sits up, forgetting about the pencil. He looks toward where Jade’s sitting next to Perrie, eyebrows shooting up when he sees a boy perched between them.

A very cute boy. Who’s currently staring at him, mouth open, cheeks cherry red.

Louis fluffs his hair, automatically coming to fix his fringe as he often does when he’s trying to impress someone, “Hi, I’m Louis. Nice to meet you.”

Harry looks at him oddly, eyebrows furrowed, mouth almost gaping. Louis’ smile falters a bit, wondering why Harry’s looking at him like he’s just seen a ghost.

Despite the weird expression, Louis can’t help but admire how handsome he is. He’s tall, Louis can tell from the way he’s got his long, lithe, skinny jean clad legs splayed out in front of him with gorgeous deep green eyes the color of holly leaves and Christmas trees. Which is great because Louis loves Christmas. And green eyes.

“Hi,” Harry finally squeaks out, voice sounding high pitched and strained, promptly looking embarrassed right after. He clears his throat, “Uh…I mean, hi. I’m Harry,” he says, much deeper this time.

“Harry’s my lab partner,” Perrie clarifies, patting his hand.

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up, mouth twisting as he recounts all the times Perrie’s complained about her lab partner. He can’t imagine Harry throwing up on her shoes, “Your Orgo one?”

“Oh god no!” Perrie says, face wrinkling as she swings her long blonde hair behind her shoulder (god she is _fabulous_ ), “Not Calvin, ugh. No Harry’s my lab partner for Bio. He’s lovely, always does his work, and’ she pauses for emphasis, “he doesn’t get drunk in the afternoon for no reason. Real polite one we got here.”

Harry blushes, brushing a glossy brown curl off his forehead sheepishly, “Thanks Pez. I think you’re a great Bio partner too. You always work very hard.”

“Aw, Haz!” Perrie cries, looking completely endeared, “How charming is he?”

“Very,” Louis smirks when Harry seems to turn even redder. He didn’t think it was humanly possible. “And quite patient seeing he has to deal with you. Dunno how you do it, Perrie’s a real pain in the arse sometimes. Right Harry?”

Harry opens his mouth unsure how to respond, and bites his lip with his two front teeth, looking between Louis and Perrie. It reminds Louis of a bunny and he suddenly feels the urge to strut up to him, ruffle his curls and maybe wrap him in a fleece blanket and feed him strawberries (which is an oddly specific urge in itself). _But can you blame him?_ Anyone can see that Harry’s fucking adorable. Judging by the way Leigh-Anne and Jesy are currently giggling as Harry struggles to answer, it seems like he’s not the only one who thinks so.

“You don’t have to respond to that Harry,” Perrie rolls her eyes, “Louis’ a right menace that one.”

Louis waves her off, in favor of turning back to Harry, eager to find out more about him.

“Where you from Harry?”

“Doncaster,” He mumbles and Louis beams.

He’s only met a few other people from his hometown at university and it’s always a bonding experience when he does. Most people aren’t from up North, so it’s always like this little kinship, the fact that they’re both from the same place, grew up with the same familiar areas with the same regional quirks.

“What? Me too! Never thought I’d meet another person from Donny today! ‘M surprised I haven’t seen you around back home. Town’s not that big.”

“I er, just moved there a year ago. Grew up in Cheshire,” Harry admits.

“Ah,” Louis nods, “well that’s really cool that you’re from Doncaster. It’s a small world.”

Harry nods quietly, brows drawn together once again.

His eyes look strangely intense, a flicker of hesitance and guilt in his stare. It’s the same odd look he’s been giving him ever since Louis walked in the room, but now it’s amplified, like he wants to say something but he’s holding it back.

Louis shuffles, unnerved when Harry continues to look at him silently. He opens his mouth, about to ask him if he has something on his face or to tell a stupid joke to break the tension, but Harry speaks before he can say anything.

“Yeah… yeah, a small world.”

 

 

****

 

 

The next time Louis runs into Harry, it’s completely on accident.

An accident that leaves Louis feeling light headed.

He jumps off the treadmill, taking a big swig of water from his CamelBak, having just finished his daily run.

The water runs down his throat, a pleasantly cool sensation settling in his stomach. He checks his pedometer, smiling smugly to himself when he sees the time and distance on it. _5 miles in 32 minutes, not too bad_. Right on track, in fact.

Louis had made it a goal to improve his cardio ever since he very _embarrassingly_ lost a two on two against Niall and Liam a couple months back. He’d been talking proper shit before the game, a bit too overconfident since his days as the star of his old team back in Doncaster. They still tease him about it, but it’s all empty threats. His new routine seems to be working, seeing as he’s been whooping Niall and Liam’s sorry arses at footie ever since.

Hah.

He wipes the sweat that’s dripping off his forehead, running a hand through his damp hair as he grabs a towel and his bag to head towards the showers. His shirt is completely soaked through, and he scrunches his nose because _gross_ but also it’s kind of cool that he’s currently covered in his own bodily fluids. He snickers to himself, knowing full well that this would disgust the hell out of Liam (who, despite being an avid lifter himself _cannot_ stand sweat) and the girls which is, well, exactly what he aims to do on a daily basis.

He can’t miss this opportunity, it’s golden.

Louis smiles opening up Snapchat so he can film his self in full glory, perspiration and all. He pulls his classic funny face, crossing his eyes and blowing his cheeks up when he slams into something.

Well, someone.

“Ow,” Louis rubs the bridge of his nose in pain, and then, promptly pauses when he realizes his face is pressed against a hard, bare chest.

“Oh,” He blinks, forehead resting on soft skin.

It’s a nice chest, he thinks, very nice, muscled just enough and warm. The perfect chest to cuddle with.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry!” The chest says as a pair of toned arms (and _are those tattoos?_ ) comes to pull him back, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, M’ fine,” Louis steps away, orienting himself before looking up, pleasantly surprised when he sees who it is.

Harry’s standing in front of him, just as surprised as he is.

And he looks _different_ to say the least, nothing like he did when Louis had met him the other day at the study group. So different, Louis has to do a double take.

Sure he had thought Harry was cute when he met him. But cute in a cuddly sweet, nonthreatening way, but now, up close, standing face to face with him, Louis realizes he’s not just cute.

_He’s hot._

Like, really hot.

Harry’s got on a pair of bright blue turquoise running shorts that hit a couple inches above the knee, a baseball cap turned backwards on his head, strands of curls peeking out of his hat, and the best part is that he’s _shirtless_ , glittering with a sheen layer of sweat (in a not gross way, but like, a sexy way that almost has Louis biting his knuckles). Louis has to keep himself from ogling at his abs and the hard V shape disappearing into the waist band of his shorts.

“Harry!” Louis grins, leaning his head back to get a good look at Harry’s face so he’s not having a conversation with Harry’s torso (not that he would mind), “Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry’s red now, the same shade of endearing vermillion that he was when Louis had first met him, except now, he can’t tell if it’s from _him_ or from a hard workout.

“Oh Louis,” Harry stutters, “H-hi. Sorry for bumping into you.”

“It’s no problem, I was the one who ran into you anyway,” Louis pats his arm, trying his best not to creepily stroke over his bicep, “Always on my phone.”

Harry seems to perk up at the word _phone_ , smiling shyly as he looks down at Louis, thick lashes fluttering, “Were you making a video?”

“Yes,” Louis admits, suddenly feeling a wash of embarrassment over the thought of being caught filming himself, “It’s for my Snapchat.”

“Make them a lot, do you?” The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches up, eyes sparkling with mirth as if he’s in on a joke.

Louis raises an eyebrow, “Yeah, actually. How’d you know? Stalking me, Curls?”

Harry’s eyes immediately widen, round and wide as he begins to stammer.

“No! No, of course not. I um… I just figured since you… you were taking a video that you uh, probably do it often…like um,” Harry swallows, nervously shifting as he looks the other way, “like context clues…but not for words…but situations, like when you like, look at little hints to figure out a big picture…what’s the word again?” Harry sounds desperate, softly hitting his forehead with the heel of his palm, “Deduction! Yeah I just er, deduced that you…take videos a lot. Have you seen Sherlock?”

Louis stares at him, trying to think of something normal to say before he ends up grabbing Harry by the face and cooing because he is just, so _cute_ and nervous for no reason. It’s probably the most endearing thing Louis’ seen, this hunk of a man tripping over his own words. He’s such a pleasant contradiction, Harry Styles, who’s muscled and looks like he could model, all bumbling over _Louis._

“…Because, you know if you haven’t, Sherlock deduces a lot. That’s like the premise of the show, him solving cases by using the science of deduction. Which, fuck you probably know that. Everyone knows Sherlock deduces things. Sorry sorry I didn’t mean to like, insult your intelligence or anything. You’re probably really smart oh god…”

Louis snaps out of his own head, not realizing he hasn’t responded to Harry for a while, who currently looks like he’s about to cry.

“Harry,” Louis finally says as soft as he can, grabbing Harry’s shaking hand, “You’re fine. I was joking.”

Harry closes his mouth, staring at their hands, shoulders deflating.

“Oh,” He says, embarrassment coloring his voice.

“And, yes I’ve seen Sherlock. Brilliant show innit? How did you feel about the end of series three?”

The change of topic makes Harry brighten immediately, “It was insane. Can you believe Moriarty’s back? And all that stuff about Mary?”

“Yes. That was one hell of a plot twist. But I saw it coming.”

Harry nods happily, “I have so many theories about series four especially about Janine and Mary. There’s this thing I saw online that I can’t get out of my head and it all ties everything together…” Harry pauses and looks at Louis, “but um, you don’t have to like listen to me ramble about it if you don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to Harry. You can’t just tease this theory and not tell me,” Louis reassures Harry kindly and starts towards the locker room, “C’mon, walk with me and tell me about Janine and Mary.”

Harry smiles, glowing as he rushes behind him.

 

“…So that’s what I believe, at least all the evidence points to it. And we all know Steven Moffatt and Mark Gattiss are very particular about the symbolism in the show, and especially careful about foreshadowing. Those shots can’t be coincidental.” Harry finishes and Louis nods very seriously.

They’re in the changing room, Louis’ lacing up his Vans and Harry’s got one sock on, waving the other in his hand as he gestures wildly. He’s been explaining his Sherlock theory to Louis for almost half an hour now, not even pausing to stop as they both huddled in their individual shower cubicles, his pleasantly low voice floating above the sound of water hitting tile floor. Someone in one of the stalls next to them had even snapped at them for spoiling the show, to which Louis had snapped right back and informed him very kindly that _series three has been out for two years now, get a life and stop complaining you fucking loser_.

“You’re definitely right about that. Plus they wouldn’t just add Janine in the show for no reason. She has to have a purpose,” Louis says thoughtfully as they both stand up with their bags and head toward the exit, “I never thought of it that way, but it makes a lot more sense, especially with Mary’s background.”

“Finally someone understands me,” Harry sighs and adjusts the strap of his duffel, eyes sparkling as they stand outside the front of the fitness center, “Usually people don’t listen once I say Janine and Jim are twins…they think I’m crazy.”

“Yeah well, they’re crazy not to listen. You’ve done all your research and everything,” Louis grins and Harry ducks his head shyly, running a hand through his long hair.

It’s all fluffy and curly and glossy underneath the glimmer of the sun, freshly blow dried and looking impossibly soft. Louis bites his lip, moving forward to tug a loose strand of his hair gently. He can’t help it, he’s got a weakness for curls, if his numerous celebrity crushes over the years are any indication. And Harry’s standing here with his beautiful long locks, just begging to be touched.

“Sorry,” Louis flushes, pulling his hand back. Harry watches at him, eyes glassy, pillowy pink lips slightly ajar.

“No, no it’s okay,” Harry whispers, “felt good.”

“I’ve got a thing for curls,” Louise explains, and Harry’s eyes soften.

“I know,” His mouth twitches upwards, “Kit Harington right?”

“Yeah,” Louis says absentmindedly, too busy hooking his fingers back in Harry’s hair to notice that he’s never told Harry that he has a crush on Kit Harington.

“Hmm,” Harry seems to purr deep in his chest underneath his touch.

They probably look ridiculous, the two of them standing there in front of the parking lot silently. Harry’s head is tilted down, eyes closed while Louis looks at him as if he’s in a trance, pulling softly at his scalp as people pass by in a blur. The sun glows in the sky, wind rustling their clothes and it’s the most serene moment he’s had in a long time.

He could stay here, just running his hands through Harry’s hair for hours.

He could, but his phone starts ringing, the opening notes of the John Cena theme song blasting from his pocket.

If only the universe wasn’t so cruel.

“Fuck,” Louis groans, letting go of Harry’s hair to fumble for his phone. He curses silently, wondering why he ever thought it would be a good idea to make the fucking John Cena opening his ringtone. He shoots Harry an apologetic glance, who just looks amused and slightly endeared as his mobile repeats “ _you can’t see me”_ over and over again.

“Niall,” Louis grits out harshly as soon as he answers the phone, “you rang?”

The only sound that comes from the other side of the line is white noise, the phone crackling.

“Niall?” Louis tries again, adjusting his phone against his ear so he can hear well. Niall better have a good reason for interrupting him from playing with a cute boy’s hair. He’s starting to get impatient waiting for a response, when suddenly he hears a low muffled groan, and the repeated sound of something slapping against something else.

Harry peers at him, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Louis frowns and shrugs, “Uh, are you okay?”

There’s no direct reply, but a beat later, the distant sound of an over exaggerated, high pitched moan fills his speakers as the slapping sound gets louder.

Is that….

 _It has to be_.

There’s no other sound that could come from except porn.

Louis almost drops his phone, horrified.

“Niall James Horan, did you just fucking butt dial me while having a wank?!” Louis shrieks at the top of his lungs into his phone before hanging up, right as he hears Niall’s startled shout and the sound of something falling.

He closes the screen aggressively and shuts his eyes, holding back a shudder when the image of Niall furiously masturbating flashes in his head. He’s scarred for at least the next ten years of his life. He’s not sure he can ever look at Niall in the eye again.

“Um, Louis?” Harry asks, hand pressed against his mouth as if he’s trying to suppress a giggle.

Louis’ eyes fly open.

He’d forgotten that Harry was there. Harry, who probably heard him scream about masturbating.

“Butt dial,” Louis says simply, as if that will explain everything, “You know how it is.”

“I—sure,” Harry quickly stops himself, knowing full well it’s better if he doesn’t ask. Smart kid.

“Anyways, where were we?” Louis asks.

“Uh…masturbating?” Harry flushes prettily and smiles to himself.

Louis smirks, sensing the perfect opportunity.

“You do it often?” He asks and Harry squeaks, looking scandalized.

“I-“ Harry’s about to reply, stuttering as he tries to respond, when his watch starts beeping. He glances down at it, eyes widening when he sees the time.

“Oh shit, I have to get to class,” Harry looks torn, like he doesn’t want to leave. He shoots Louis a mournful glance, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Louis nods, understandingly, ignoring how disappointed he feels just because Harry has to leave.

Harry shifts just as regretfully, turning around hesitantly, “Was nice talking to you Lou, I’ll see you around yeah?”

He gives him an awkward tilt of the head as he finally walks off to the other side of the parking lot.

Louis frowns.

It feels wrong, just letting Harry leave like that and Louis’ not even sure they’ll see each other again. He wants to see him though, wants to listen to Harry’s Sherlock theories, to play with his hair and make him blush. It’s weird, how much he likes Harry even though he’s just met him. They could be good friends at the very least. He can’t let this slip out of his hands this easily, and he’s always lived by the saying that “you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take”. So he does the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Harry wait!” Louis calls, almost tripping over his own feet as he runs after Harry. He slows down as soon as he’s just a foot away from him, “Can I- Can I get your number?”

It’s out before he can stop himself. He feels uncharacteristically shy suddenly, shrinking back just the slightest when Harry doesn’t reply immediately. Harry’s eyes are trained on the floor, his feet kicking the ground.

He waits for Harry’s response, but he’s met with silence.

Louis deflates, flinching and dropping his shoulders. He swallows back the bubble in his throat and avoids looking at Harry at all costs. He’s not sure he can without it hurting.

Harry probably doesn’t feel the same way.

“Actually, its okay. I gotta get headed back to the apartment anyway,” His voice wavers and he hates himself for this. For sounding so _pathetic._

He’s just about to break into a run back to his own car when Harry finally speaks.

“Louis,” His voice cracks, sounding thick and laden with shame, “I-um… I need to tell you something.”

Louis spins around, facing Harry now, who has a slightly pained look on his face.

“I um,” Harry worries his lip between his teeth ruefully, looking everywhere except at Louis. It’s painfully tense, and Louis can feel his hackles rising. He tries to catch Harry’ eyes, but it seems like he’s trying to avoid him at all costs.

“Yes?” Louis prompts.

Harry doesn’t answer immediately, continuing to keep his gaze on the ground. He clenches his fists, internal conflict evident on his expression.

“My uh...” Harry falters when he finally speaks, “My phone’s broken. Why don’t you give me your Facebook instead? So I can message you?”

Louis frowns, feeling slightly relieved but puzzled. He nods anyway because it’s better than nothing.

“Okay, sure,” he opens up the app and hands his mobile to Harry. He shifts awkwardly, watching as Harry taps away at the screen.

“There,” Harry smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “I friended me on your account. I’ll message you okay Louis?”

Louis offers him his own smile, “Sure. I look forward to it.”

Harry nods, and looks at him shyly. He steps forward, slightly hesitating before he reaches out and touches his hand. It’s so simple, just the brief brush of his fingers on the back of his hand, fleeting and quick and he’s gone before Louis can comprehend it. But it burns his skin when he lets go, and Louis can feel the ghost of it there, present and hot.

It feels like goodbye.

“Bye Lou,” Harry’s eyelashes flutter, voice strained and tinged with finality.

Before Louis knows it, Harry’s gone, already halfway across the car park.

Louis blinks, butterflies in his stomach. He stands in the same spot by himself for the next minute, utterly confused and just a bit pink.

He doesn’t understand Harry Styles at all.

Not at all.

 

 

****

 

 

This was a bad idea.

Louis knows he’s had a lot of bad ideas in the past, but this has got to be his worst one.

It’s 7: 56 PM and he’s standing on the curb in front of _Shelli’s_ , dressed in a pair of ripped skinnies, hands stuffed in the front pocket of Zayn’s oversized black hoodie, the hood pulled up enough to hide half his face. He swallows, staring up at the pastel blue lettering on the store front before glancing anxiously through the windows, wondering if he’ll catch a glimpse of whoever he sent his videos to, or as Zayn had officially dubbed him, _Mystery Number Guy._

It’s no use though, the shop is crowded as usual, and all he can make out is a blur of people weaving around tables. He takes a deep breath, trying his best to at least not feel too nervous.

Too bad he’s fucking terrified.

_You’re fine. There’s tons of people here, you have Zayn on speed dial, and even that stupid thing of mace in your back pocket._

He closes his eyes, briefly wishing he took up Zayn’s offer to be with him here. It’s too late for that now though, and he’s stuck in this situation he agreed to (not that he had much of a choice in the first place). He burrows his nose in the soft fabric of Zayn’s jumper instead. It’s relaxing, the scent of the fabric softener Zayn gets from Tesco’s and the Armani cologne he always wears. It’s almost as if _Zayn_ is there, hugging him, helping some of his nerves melt away.

He checks his watch.

_7:58_

Two more minutes until he has to meet the person he had completely embarrassed himself in front of.

He sighs, watching closely as another group of rowdy university students push their way through the front door of the bakery and figures he should just get it over with.

Alright, he can do this.

Willing himself to move, he forces himself to open the door, wincing when the loud chime of bells announces his entrance. Louis glances around the shop, checking to see if anyone is staring at him, only to be met with is the sight of store patrons looking at shelves of baked goods.

_God he’s being so paranoid._

He shakes himself out of it, unsure of what to do. He takes off his hood, figuring whoever he’s supposed to be meeting here will recognize him and approach him. Now it’s just a matter of waiting.

Another look at the time tells him it’s already 8:01.

_Mystery Number Guy is late. Hopefully he won’t show up at all._

It’s no use standing around and freaking out, so he decides on busying himself by browsing the rows upon rows of pastries. On a normal circumstance, he’d be happy to be at _Shelli’s,_ it’s the premier hangout spot for students, especially on Friday nights when everyone’s either trying to kill time before heading out to the parties or stocking up on drunk food (and what’s better than sweets?), but today’s a special circumstance and he can’t quite get himself to feel positive about being here.

Especially when he’s essentially being blackmailed to be here.

Louis wanders down the aisle, eyes darting briefly to the table area where groups of people are sitting with bowls of shaved ice, coffees, and fruit tarts in paper ruffles, coming to stand in front of a shelf full of different confections. He’s in the middle of inspecting a small cluster of madeleines, placed together to look like a starburst shape, when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

Louis almost jumps out of his own skin, whipping around and grabbing his chest in shock, heart thumping quickly.

He nearly falls down in relief when he sees who it is.

“Oh, thank god,” Louis says, trying to slow down his breathing.

“Hi,” Harry greets, looking at him with nervous eyes.

“Hi, Harry. Nice seeing you here,” He replies, still recovering from his little scare.

He’s so busy trying to calm himself down, he doesn’t even notice Harry’s tense stance.

“You too, Lou,” Harry says sincerely, before briefly pausing, “Um, do you mind if we talk? Like somewhere private?”

“Sure, but I’m supposed to meeting someone, so I’m just gonna apologize in advance if I have to jet off,” Louis explains, feeling another wave of hate towards Mystery Number Guy. He’d rather spend his Friday having a chat with Harry than meeting whoever this blackmailing stranger is.

Harry gives him a peculiar look before simply pursing his lips and nodding.

“I’ve got a table set up in the back,” Is all he says as he leads Louis towards a secluded area of the bakery.

Harry, being the gentleman he is, actually pulls the chair out for Louis before he sits down himself and Louis almost swoons.

“Thanks,” Louis says, trying his best not to sound _too_ taken by his chivalry and watches as Harry sits down on the other side from him.

It’s then, when he gets a good look at him under the light, when Louis finally notices how _dressed up_ Harry is. He’s got a baby blue bee patterned shirt on, the buttons halfway done up, a black blazer draped over his shoulders, and slim fitting trousers fitted nicely over his legs. There’s a creamsicle orange carnation in one of his hands and a box of macarons wrapped in yellow ribbon in the other.

He looks like he’s ready for a date.

Louis can feel the ugly green monster manifest inside himself and he internally scolds himself because _right now is not the time to be jealous._ It’s not like he’s got any right to be jealous anyway. After all, he barely knows him and Harry has the right to go out with anyone he pleases.

It doesn’t mean he can’t ask him about it though.

“Hot date tonight tonight?” Louis asks, trying his best to keep his voice even. He resists the urge to eye the flower disdainfully; it’s done nothing to earn his distaste.

“I um guess you could say that. Hot yes, date, well, I hope so,” Harry blushes, twisting the carnation in his hands.

Louis grumbles silently, and crosses his arms, jealous of whoever’s managed to charm Harry into thinking they’re _hot,_ “Well they’d be stupid to not accept a date with you.”

“Really?” Harry asks hopefully, sitting up suddenly with glittering eyes.

Louis nods, looking down at the table top, “Of course, Haz. You’re funny, easy to talk to, and a proper gentleman. You even got gifts and everything. Anyone who rejects you must be an idiot.”

Harry leans forward, not even bothering to hide the wide smile growing on his face, “You really think so? You’re serious?”

Louis makes an offended sound, still frowning and glaring at the table because it’s upsetting how Harry can’t see how great of a person he is, “Of course I’m serious. Have more faith in yourself Harry. I know we haven’t know each other long, but you’re so easy to just sit around and have a chat with and you’re so knowledgeable about everything you’re passionate about. And you’re charming, everyone in the group loves you, the girls can’t stop talking about how polite and cute you are. Anyone would be _honored_ to go on a date with you.”

Harry looks at him as if he’s just told him he’s just won the lottery.

“Even if I kind of blackmailed them into coming with me on a date because they accidentally sent me a bunch of embarrassing videos?”

“Harry, how many more times do I have to reassure you that yes, anyone wo—wait what?”

Louis’ head snaps up because _what?_

_What did he just say?_

“What did you just say?” Louis demands and Harry’s smiling weakly at him, leg jiggling up and down.

“You heard me.”

Louis’ jaw drops, absolutely bewildered, “ _You’re_ Mystery Number Guy?”

“Um, yes?” Harry says sheepishly.

“No,” Louis gasps, face turning bright red, “ _You’re_ the one I sent those videos to? And you knew this whole time?”

He’s two seconds away from literally dying in the middle of _Shelli’s_ because of course, the person who received those videos of him, just happens to be Harry Styles, the guy he may or may not have quickly developed a crush on. This is _mortifying_.

“Yes,” Harry rubs the back of his neck, ducking his head, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Louis groans falling forward and burying his head in his hands because _oh my fucking god._

“Louis?” Harry asks, gently nudging him with his hand when Louis doesn’t speak for a while.

Louis lifts his head and looks him warily, “I just want to know, _why?_ ”

Harry blushes, tucking his hair behind his ear, “I um… I thought you were cute for a while. I uh, actually knew who you were before the video thing,” he admits, turning a shade darker when Louis raises his eyebrows at his statement.

“I saw you one day, when I was studying with Perrie. Not in person or anything, but she um, she opened one of your Snapchats and I thought you were really attractive and funny. I wanted to get to know you. I didn’t like, ask Perrie who you were though, I was kind of embarrassed and I thought I’d get over it. But if I’m being honest, I couldn’t stop thinking about you as creepy as that sounds…so when I got those videos I couldn’t believe my luck. I had to take the opportunity you know?” He lowers his eyes, pink tongue coming out to lick at his lips.

“I never told you when we met because I didn’t think we would meet before this date and you make me all kinds of nervous. You’ve probably noticed, I act kind of weird sometimes… and I like, can’t really function when I’m around you,” Harry mumbles, “It’s because I really like you and I was just glad to be talking with you, honestly. And like, I know blackmailing you into going on a date with me was wrong, and holding those videos above your head was shitty but… It seemed like the only option at the time. But now that I’ve gotten to actually know you and stuff, I’m happy enough.”

Harry pauses, inhaling sharply before looking at him, “I understand if you don’t want to date me though, in fact I’d understand if you don’t want to talk to me ever again. You don’t know how sorry I am about this and I won’t ask anything more of you. But, just, take these okay?” He gently pushes the flower and macarons toward him, “I got them for you because I wanted to at least make you happy, and that your night wouldn’t be completely ruined by me. So um, yeah.”

The gifts are sitting there on the table, and Louis stares at them silently. The bow on the box is so sweetly tied, and now that he’s staring at it, he can see the shimmer in the ribbon, can see the _effort_ Harry probably put into picking out the color, can imagine Harry trying to tie the perfect knot. And the flower, the flower is such a peculiar choice—a unique choice, not a daisy or a rose or something predictable, but a carnation. He wonders why Harry chose it.

He says nothing, his heavy limbs somehow moving, feeling as if he’s swimming, to pick the single flower up, lifting it up to his nose to inhale the soft fragrant scent.

“I um, I looked up flower meanings online,” Harry says, as if he’s somehow sensed Louis’ questioning, “The orange means warmth and enthusiasm. And that’s kind of what I see when I see you, you’re so warm Louis, everything about you from your silly videos, to the way you kept talking to me even though I’m weird and shit at being social,” he pauses and clears his throat, “and I chose a carnation because it resembles admiration, and I admire all those things about you.”

A swell of emotion builds up inside of Louis as he traces his finger across the stem of the flower, fingernails gliding up to where layer and layers of fragile soft petals are. He sniffs; there are tears stinging the backs of his eyes, threatening to leak. Harry’s so fucking sweet. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Harry shifts uncomfortably, the sound of his chair screeching as he pushes away from the table interrupting Louis’ thoughts, “I um, I guess I’ll get going. Thank you Louis,” he looks at him one last time, green eyes full of sincerity, “For everything. I mean it.”

He stands up, hitting his knee clumsily against the edge of the table as he pushes himself out of the chair and he adjusts his suit jacket.

Louis blinks, still sitting there with the flower in his hand.

His mind starts screaming at him.

_Do something you idiot._

And he does.

Louis lunges out of his seat, the flower falling out of the tips of his fingers and back onto the table as he crashes into Harry. He pulls him by the lapels of his blazer with as much force as possible so Harry’s head is lowered, stands up on the very tips of his toes, and kisses him, puts as much into it as possible so Harry _knows,_ knows how much this means to him.

As cheesy as it sounds, the world seems to stop as soon as their lips touch, the noisy sound of patrons fading into silence.

 _It’s perfect_.

Perfect, but messy at first, Harry letting out a squeak of surprise when their lips press, their teeth clashing together. But then he melts into it, big hands coming to rest on the soft skin on the back of Louis’ neck as he stabilizes them, slowing down. Harry’s mouth is soft against his, as soft and delicate as the petals of his carnation. He kisses so tenderly, so sweetly, mouth tasting like spearmint and the faintest tinge of coffee and one of his fingers is stroking circles into his skin, the other coming to gently smooth over the bone in the hinge of his jaw.

They kiss until they have to pull away for air, lightheaded, white spots dancing under their eyelids.

Harry breaks away first, running his thumb over the sunken spot underneath Louis’ eyes and the top of his cheekbone, forehead pressed against forehead.

“Hi,” he smiles and Louis smiles back, eyes crinkling in a way they always do when he’s immensely happy.

“Hi,” Louis breathes as Harry presses his fingers against his bottom lip, feeling him speak. They stare at each other for a while, memorizing one another’s faces, when someone behind them coughs.

Louis turns around, coming face to face with a store full of people staring at them as well as two girls who are looking at them expectantly.

Right, they’re still in real life.

“Um, not to interrupt this touching moment, but are you two still using that table?” One of the girls asks, nodding towards the table behind them.

“O-oh yeah,” Harry flushes, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

He grabs the box and flower, shooting them an apologetic glance and almost trips, legs wobbly and uncoordinated. Louis giggles and takes his hand as they walk out the store, ignoring the knowing looks people shoot their way.

“Get it!” Someone calls out behind them and Louis has to bite back a laugh as Harry turns tomato red.

They walk to a street corner, standing in front of a lamp-post. The sky has darkened to a deep black-blue, and they watch each other underneath the dingy yellow street light. Harry steps forward, pressing the box of macarons into his hand and tucks the flower behind his ear.

“There,” he smiles, and Louis’ too smitten to even roll his eyes when he feels the flower touch the side of his head.

“I guess your blackmail plan worked,” Louis bites his lip to hold back his grin when Harry has the decency to look ashamed.

“I’m still sorry about that,” He apologizes, stammering as he does so, “I’ll never stop being sorry about it. You make me do things I normally wouldn’t do.”

“Don’t be sorry about it. If you didn’t blackmail me, this probably wouldn’t have happened,” Louis replies, because he means it. As much anxiety as those texts caused him, it was worth it in the end.

“I don’t think I can _not_ be sorry about it Lou, it was awful of me and I-“

Louis cuts him off, punching him in the arm.

“Ow,” Harry rubs his arm, looking like wounded baby deer, “what was that for?”

“I hit you. We’re even now,” Louis explains, “now stop apologizing and kiss me again.”

“I think I can do that,” Harry grins, and presses his lips against Louis’. Louis sighs into it, letting Harry grab his waist as they move their mouths against one another.

When they pull away, Louis’ eyes glitter in the light.

“Walk me home?” He asks, threading his fingers in Harry’s and Harry nods, goofily grinning as he swings their hands up and down.

They step out into the street together. Louis pauses as he walks down from the curb, hearing the soft squish of something underneath his feet.

He looks down, nose wrinkling when he sees the splattered carcass of a bug underneath his shoe.

“Ugh gross,” He complains and Harry glances down at his feet before slowly raising his head to look at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes, humming the opening notes to an oh too _familiar_ score.

Louis narrows his eyes, feeling himself turn hot.

 _He won’t_.

“Don’t you dare, Styles,” Louis warns and Harry just pops a dimple cheekily.

“Wasn’t going to say anything,” He shrugs and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Mhm, sure you weren’t.”

“I just have one request though,” Harry bites his lip.

Louis eyes him suspiciously, “Yes?”

“Please don’t use the flower I gave you for the funeral.”


End file.
